Everything I Die For Read online

  Copyright © C.A. Rudolph 2019.

  All rights reserved.

  Cover Art by Deranged Doctor Design

  Edited by Sabrina Jean

  Proofread by Pauline Nolet

  No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to locales, events, business establishments, or actual persons—living or dead—is entirely coincidental.

  Created with Vellum

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  About the Author

  Own the Gun Play Series

  Click the image to view the bundle

  Special limited-time discount pricing

  April 18th - 22nd, 2019

  Volume 1: Until Nothing Remains - FREE!

  Volume 2: Everything I Die For - $0.99

  (Pricing applies to Kindle ebook format only)

  Also by C.A. Rudolph

  THE GUN PLAY SERIES

  UNTIL NOTHING REMAINS

  EVERYTHING I DIE FOR

  THE WHAT’S LEFT OF MY WORLD SERIES

  WHAT’S LEFT OF MY WORLD

  THIS WE WILL DEFEND

  WE WON’T GO QUIETLY

  DIVIDED WE STAND

  WORLDS APART

  INDIVISIBLE (summer 2019)

  THE WILL TO SURVIVE: A CHARITY ANTHOLOGY FOR HURRICANE RELIEF

  THE WORST CASE SCENARIO (short)

  “One life is all we have and we live it as we believe in living it. But to sacrifice what you are and to live without belief, that is a fate more terrible than dying.”

  Joan of Arc

  One

  Mayflower Hotel, Washington, DC

  Nihayat al’ayam plus 18 hours

  George Daniels, acting general manager of the Mayflower Hotel, nervously pulled at his collar, attempting to loosen his tie. He was feeling vastly more uptight today than usual. While breaking news alerts sounded off on the television to his right, he watched and listened for the arrival of DC’s Metropolitan Police. They’d been dispatched to his hotel, of all places, in response to, of all things, a disturbance in the building.

  The phones at the front desk had been ringing off the hook for the past hour. Hotel patrons staying in the uppermost floors had been calling to complain about commotion and sounds of gunshots. George had never experienced a situation like this before during his career in hotel management, and with his mind spinning into a panic, he hadn’t hesitated to call 911.

  The emergency dispatcher had taken his report rather casually and in stride, while displaying an overall lack of urgency. George was aware, both by his own topographical knowledge and after being graciously informed by the dispatcher countless times throughout their conversation, that Washington, DC, was indeed a big city. About three-quarters of a million people called the District home, and crime rates in certain areas of town reflected those numbers. George had a hunch that Arlene or Darlene, or whatever the hell her name was, probably received similar calls a hundred times or more daily. Her lack of concern came as no surprise to him, but he couldn’t help being annoyed at her method of handling his call, and taking offense at the way she’d spoken to him.

  The Mayflower was a four-star hotel with five-star amenities akin to some of the most luxurious guesthouses found in major cities around the world. It was located in the heart of downtown, not in the projects or some run-down ghetto. Its patrons were far from being hoodlums—they weren’t the type to involve themselves in or instigate needlessly violent, movie-style gun battles like the ones being reported to him. Event such as these just didn’t happen here. Or they hadn’t—until the likes of today.

  George reached for the Peet’s iced espresso mocha on the desk in front of him. At the point of taking a sip, he pulled the beverage away from his lips, hearing sirens approach along Connecticut Avenue outside the lobby entrance. Not long after, more sirens could be heard approaching along Desales Street through the hotel’s north entrance.

  One of his front-counter employees, a twenty-two-year-old new hire Georgetown University student, strode to him, her apprehension on full display. “Um, Mr. Daniels? I think the police are here.”

  “I know, Heather. I can hear them, same as you.”

  “W-what do you think they’re going to do? The sirens are coming from everywhere. It sounds like they’ve surrounded the hotel. Do you think they’re blocking off the streets?”

  “Heather, it wouldn’t surprise me,” George replied sternly, then cleared his throat. “But the truth of the matter is, I don’t know. Do try your best to maintain a professional image while they’re here. We must do whatever we can to keep our patrons calm and content. Now, please. Go tend to your duties.”

  “I will…but, sir, I’m scheduled to leave in less than an hour,” Heather said. “If the police block us all in, how am I supposed to get home?”

  “Just use public transportation like the rest of your colleagues. Farragut North is merely a block away.”

  “Eww. You mean the Metro?” She scoffed. “Ugh! I hate the Metro, buses and the trains. They’re so gross. Homeless people live in those stations…it always smells like urine and poop. My car is in the garage…if I leave now, I can maybe still get it out and—”

  “Heather, please!” George snapped at her, then took a moment to locate a more subtle tone. “Look, I’m sorry. But there simply isn’t time for this. There are more important items requiring my attention. So please…just go now, if you must.”

  Heather’s expression flattened and she nodded slightly. “Yes, sir. I will. Sorry…and thank you.”

  Within seconds, the hotel’s lobby began filling with an assortment of members of law enforcement, some in uniform, others in plainclothes. They were soon joined by several heavily armed squads of DC’s SWAT team, each member marching fiercely indoors and covered head to toe in riot gear.

  An officer wearing a brown, unbuttoned, single-breasted sport jacket broke away from the others. With his bulletproof vest openly displaying an embroidered-yellow POLICE patch, he held a badge high in the air and rotated on his heels, scanning the lobby. “Excuse me, please, everyone, may I have your attention? DC Metro Police. We have a situation,” he said commandingly. “Please remain calm and where you are.” He sent a gaze to the front desk. “Is there a manager around? Who’s in charge here?”

  George swallowed over a bulging lump in his throat, then held up a hand. “Um, I’m—that would be me, sir,” he said, his voice stuttering a bit. “I’m George Daniels, the hotel’s general manager.”

  The officer in the brown jacket locked eyes with George and moved swiftly over to him. “How you doing? You the one who made the call?”

  George nodded. “Yes, sir. Yes, I am.”
/>
  The officer slid a piece of spearmint chewing gum in his mouth. “Okay, good. I’m Lieutenant Frank Hogan.” His eyes darted around. “So, what exactly do we have here, George? Some kind of disturbance?”

  George hesitated, shaking his head back and forth. “Well, I-I don’t know, exactly.”

  “Your report said you were receiving calls about gunshots. Is that the case? Or no?”

  “Oh, yes…yes. I’ve received multiple calls.”

  “Anything confirmed? Anyone see anything?”

  George shook his head.

  “Okay. What about your employees? Have any of your people reported anything or seen anything…or anyone…suspicious?”

  “No, sir. Not that I’m aware.”

  The lieutenant began rattling off consecutive questions in haste. “At approximately what time did this happen? Approximately how many shots were fired? To your knowledge, has anyone been in contact with the suspects? Any idea how many there are?”

  George answered as many of the questions as he could before they started to jumble together.

  “Okay, George, okay. That’ll do. I take it you have security cameras in this hotel?” the lieutenant asked.

  George nodded. “Yes, sir. Yes, we do. A full complement, though I’m sorry to say, nothing in the rooms.”

  The officer nodded and pursed his lips. “That’s a shame. We’re going to need full access to them—everything you got—for the duration. And we’re going to need to see your security tapes or DVR or whatever recording devices you’re using. And we’ll need access to and full control of all your elevators, even the employee-only ones. My men are locking down the building as we speak.”

  “Okay, we can do that. Um, what should we be doing?” George asked.

  “Well, for starters, I need you to lock the elevators down and seal off the stairways if you can. And start calling your patrons. Instruct them that they are to remain in their rooms by order of the chief of police until we tell them it’s safe. It’s better and safer if no one moves.”

  George adjusted his tie again and nodded his accord, then stepped away to converse with his head of security.

  An officer dressed in SWAT gear, his arm displaying a sergeant’s chevron, pulled the lieutenant aside. “Chopper’s here. They just landed on the roof,” he said. “There’s a dozen men staged up there awaiting orders. How do you want to approach from underneath?”

  The lieutenant placed his finger on the counter, pointing to an embossed hallway map. “After we get all the elevators and security cameras under control, we can take the service lift to the penthouse level and stage in the hallway.”

  “Roger that.”

  “And, Sergeant, no one breaches until I give the word, understand? Only go on my command, not before.”

  The SWAT sergeant nodded, then turned away to relay the information to the rest of his team.

  George returned to the counter, and the lieutenant snapped his fingers in the overly anxious manager’s face. “George, how big is your service elevator?”

  “How…big?”

  “Yeah. As in, how many men can it accommodate?” Lieutenant Hogan gnawed on his gum. “Can it handle a dozen?”

  George didn’t know the answer offhand and speculated based upon his limited knowledge. “I don’t believe so. If I had to guess, we could probably do half that.”

  “Half that?”

  “The hotel looks new, thanks to upkeep and renovations, but it’s an older building. The elevators are original…and rather small.”

  The officer looked disappointed. “Well, I suppose that’s going to have to do.” He sighed. “Okay…let’s get this over with. We have to move on them before it’s too late.”

  George squinted. “Before it’s too late for what?” he asked, but the officer moved away to lay out the plans with his men, failing to provide an answer. What if it’s already too late?

  George rode along with the second crew of SWAT and police officers in the service elevator to the penthouse. He remained in the car during the breach, huddled behind the protection of the service elevator’s steel doors. He cringed at the sound of crashing, smashing and glass being broken. He’d been concerned for his patrons’ safety and wanted very much to know what the cause of the reports had been, but now his primary concerns were beginning to shift.

  How much additional damage was being caused by the police during the breach, only to be justified to him by them just ‘doing their job’? And how much would it cost to repair it all? Reporting it to the hotel’s insurance company would be a nightmare, but nothing like the worry of whether the policy would cover any of it.

  Several minutes later he began hearing voices signaling that the room was clear of danger. Hostiles had either been eliminated or had vacated prior to the breach. Feeling it was now safe to do so, he turned the corner and jogged across the hallway, making his entry into the presidential suite between a set of wooden doors appearing to have been forcibly smashed open.

  As he strolled across the Calacatta marble floor randomly streaked with what appeared to be dried blood, George looked straight ahead through the hallway, gasping at the sight of a man sitting in a chair, a pillow in his lap and a gaping hole in his face. Blood oozed from his nostrils, ears, and eye sockets, and a large spattering of red coated the wall, window and drapes to his rear. George put a hand to his chest and looked away, only to spot three more bodies, all deceased, all bearing similar gunshot wounds, lying sporadically along the suite’s lavish floors and once-luxurious carpeting.

  George couldn’t remember hearing any gunshots after the police had conducted their breach. He ran his fingers through his thinning crown of hair and, with no regard for the volume of his voice, exclaimed, “Good heavens! What on earth happened here?”

  Several officers standing close by turned and regarded him while others continued minding their tasks. None replied or offered a response.

  A moment after, Lieutenant Hogan moved in on the increasingly maddening general manager. “Mr. Daniels? Sir, I’m sorry, but I’m going to have to ask you to step out of the room. This is a crime scene, sir.”

  George gestured to the splintered doors, the clutter and disarray in the room, and the bodies on the floor, as a look of anger and sheer indignance befell his face. “Yeah, I can see that! Anyone with half a brain can see that, Lieutenant! No freaking shit it’s a crime scene!”

  “Sir, please…”

  “The question is, who committed the damn crime? Who the hell perpetrated all this damage? Had it been this way before, or was it your men?” George huffed. “Was it your troopers who destroyed those doors? Because if so, let me be the one to inform you…it wasn’t necessary! I would’ve provided you with the combination or the master key had you asked!”

  The officer in the brown jacket was joined by another plainclothes policeman, who shared a glance followed by a chuckle with him. “Sir,” the lieutenant began, his focus returning to the hotel manager, “I can understand your being upset at the condition of the room. But we didn’t kick those doors in, we found them that way. And all the deceased were found in that condition at the point of entry. We didn’t shoot them. Whoever was here before, who caused all the commotion you reported, took care of them for us.”

  The officer behind him spoke up. “And did a damn fine job of it, if you ask me.” He turned away, bringing a handheld radio to his mouth. “Central, this is unit ten. We’re code four. Repeat—code four. All units, Mayflower Hotel, be advised. We’re clear to stand down.”

  George exhaled as his anger continued to fester. “This is absurd! Ludicrous! These suites were just freshly reconditioned. We charge two thousand dollars a night for them…on weekdays! I can guarantee that marble flooring over there costs more than any of you make in a year—even without factoring in the cost of labor! And the carpet? Forget it! It’s ruined. There’s no salvaging it!”

  Lieutenant Hogan looked away as another officer approached, handing him a cigarette from a freshly opened
pack.

  “Two thousand a night? Really?” the officer pondered. “I thought this call came from the Mayflower.” He rotated, glancing around the room. “This isn’t the Willard, is it? Did we respond to the Willard by mistake?”

  The lieutenant held back his amusement. “Mr. Daniels, with all due respect, not one of my officers in attendance caused any of this damage. And as I said, I’ve declared this room and surrounding areas a crime scene. As such, an active investigation has begun, and every second you spend here only serves to contaminate it.” The lieutenant snapped his fingers, garnering the attention of two fellow uniformed officers. “Now please, take your leave of this room before I have you removed.”

  George was on the verge of losing his mind; he’d already misplaced his composure. It was appalling that these men couldn’t and wouldn’t understand his viewpoint regarding the damage done to his hotel. And now, they weren’t going to leave and, instead, were forcing him to. It was inconceivable how much more damage they would manufacture during what had become an extended stay. He could only wager a guess.

  He screamed at the officers and taunted them as they approached. “Fine! Go ahead! Remove me! When my boss hears of this, I’ll most likely be fired anyway!” With both officers dragging him from the room, he struggled against them. “The damage to this room is unfathomable! We’re talking tens of thousands—if not hundreds of thousands of dollars! And whose fault is it? To whom do we assign blame? Who pays for this?”